Sex, God and Rain

and god splashed her face with freckles...

and god splashed her face with freckles,

because i guess he was really happy that day.

sorta' like the time he splashed stars over the milky way.

and he made her skin of moonlight,

and her hair of burning sun,

and gave her a soul

that would always know

the reason wild rivers run.

It was a windy day when I wrote that. Pacing about the old farmhouse alone, the only sounds, besides my thoughts, those of the creaking wooden floors and the wind prowling around the house outside.

It's funny how memories are, I thought, as I poured my fifth cup of coffee. Black and strong, just the way I always like it. Just the way SHE always liked it, too.

It was mid-summer that day and she'd been gone awhile now. How long then I really can't remember now. But for some reason I still remember that lonely day. In a way, it was beautiful. 

she disappeared between the whiskey and morning cigarettes

out there in the noisy world

somewhere,

leaving me in the quiet

of empty rooms i call home.

It was early morning then. And for a few moments, as I sipped my hot coffee, I stepped out onto the narrow front porch. The porch where she and I had spent so many mornings together.

all i ever wanted

was a house in the sky,

with a little front porch

for you and i,

where we'll drink coffee 

in the morning

and tea

at noon,

as we visit with

the sun and moon.

The Kansas countryside spread out all around me. Puffy white clouds sailed smoothly across a ribbon of light blue sky, and the grass sang and hissed as the wind tickled at  its roots. It was a beautiful day to be alone.

it's funny,

how the meat in this human stew,

tastes like me and you.

I stood there marveling at the distant beauty of the world. Distant because, even though it was close enough to tickle my eyes, it simply went on doing its own thing, uncaring about the affairs and troubles of the world. Or the cares and troubles of a broken-hearted man drinking coffee on his narrow front porch.